


Blue Beards and Fuchsia Feathers

by the_walking_circus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M, Romance, and no not in a sexual way AT ALL, play-doh, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2674388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_walking_circus/pseuds/the_walking_circus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot based on the prompt "Severus/Sirius, play-doh and the beginning of their animosity". A story with romance, awkward situations, no smut (well not THAT much), a sarcastic cat named Archibald and of course lots of Play-Doh. Don't worry it's not as weird as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Beards and Fuchsia Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> I am sad to say that I have not in fact read the Harry Potter book so I can't guarantee that all the dates are 100% accurate. However this is crack and you should know any story with play-doh in the prompt will not be entirely successful in on keeping with J. K. Rowling's original vision. That being said, enjoy.

Prologue 

The first time that the heir of the Snape family had the pleasure of meeting the heir to the house of Black was many years before they even stepped into the hallowed halls of Hogwarts School for Witch Craft and Wizardry. The place and time of their actual first encounter was on the floor of one of the twenty seven rooms that made up the summer estate of the Blacks’, sitting upon a plush carpet, in a sunlight dappled drawing room. An innumerable number of stuffed bears, overturned wooden trains, scattered blocks and toy soldiers in broken ranks, and a smattering assortment of other toys, both wizarding and Muggle alike, surrounded them. They were four. 

Some distant, and just a bit mad, cousin of the Snape and Black families had had the wonderful idea of introducing the young heirs to each other in the name of strengthening the bond between their families. A child hood bond, what could be more precious? The cheerful, woefully ignorant and misguided man, the godfather of little Severus, and uncle, how many times removed of the tiny tyke Sirius, had brought both of the boys to one of the estates belonging to Severus’ father and placed them together in a large empty room, along with an assortment of bits, bobs and baubles and had left them. Hoping to find them later playing cheerfully, or giggling or sleeping in each other’s arms or something equally adorable and squeal worthy, so he could take a photo of it and spam all his relatives with Christmas cards adorned with the children’s faces.

However the man had clearly never had kids or even been with one alone for a considerable amount of time, so sadly it was not the adorable scene that he had envisioned in his mind when he returned only twenty minutes after leaving the two to their own. Instead of the utterly Moe scene that should have been awaiting him he was instead greeted with the sight of baby Sirius trying to shove a large lump of fluorescent green gunk up baby Severus’ nose. The children had been behaving for all of two minutes after the older relative had left before all out Armageddon had broken out. Stuffing from various disembowelled stuffed animals littered the floor like candy floss, tiny wooden train wheels were scattered around the carpet, the sad broken caboose lying on its side amongst the wreckage, and somehow a toy solider had embed its self, head first, into the now quiet distraught portrait of one of the Black ancestors. And of course the boys had also got into the twenty four colour box set of Muggle Play-dough which leads to the current predicament of the heir to the house of Snape having Granny Apple Green shoved up one of his important orifices, an orifice that was vital to the act of breathing.

After a frenzied trip to St. Mugos and a loud reprimanding session for both young Sirius and his distant relative alike, the playdate ended, and needless to say no others were scheduled after this. If the heirs wanted to get to know each other that they could when they were older and knew not to try and shove foreign objects into one another. That was how this Severus and Sirius meet for the first time in their lives, and they would not meet again for many years.

Some Time later in the Future (on an Unspecified Day because I have never read the Cannon and don’t know when they would have been in school together)

There were always those students, the ones that always caused trouble, no matter what day or what class or what school, wizarding or Muggle, they happened to be in. Miss Varley had the great misfortune of having two of them together in her Transfigurations class, one James Potter and another Sirius Black. This was a time before the stern, tight lipped McGonagall, had taken up the helm at Hogwarts, and without her strong presence anchoring the class in order, combined with the fact that the most unfortunate Miss Varley had two of possibly most mischievous pranksters that had ever graced the grand schools halls together in her class, had caused there to be almost no progress made in the first two weeks of class. The timid woman was near a breakdown.

At wits end she assigned the simplest assignment that she had, the transfiguration of a simplistic sculpture into its portrayed item, a project that should have been far too easy for the third year class. It just happen that was also the day that she felt that one too many dung bombs had gone off during her lecture and finally decided to split up the gilded duo up. Unfortunately she also had to split up another group to make the numbers even, and choose her most studious pair. So the day they got the Play-dough into pet project was also the day that James was split from Sirius and Lilly from Severus, creating possibly the two most dysfunctional groups that had ever existed in Hogwarts. 

Sirius scowled, taping his fingers on the worn wood of the table top he glared holes through the back of Miss Knarly’s head, that harpy had decide to split up him and James just because of some dumb dung bomb under her chair. They had done much worse but his seemed to be the last straw for the overstrung woman and she had finally popped. He kept shooting casual or casual enough so he didn’t get noticed by Knarly, glances over his shoulder at James, who thankfully seemed to be even more miserable than he was. The other dark haired boy seemed to be getting the cold shoulder from his new lab partner Lilly Evens, as she alternated from taking careful notes on what the teacher was saying and shooting death glares at both him and James. As if they were some sort creature you would find living in the plumbing of a public bathroom. Sirius didn’t feel sorry for the other boy at all, he was the one who came up with this latest prank which got them into this mess, so he deserved what he was getting. He wasn’t the one who should be feeling miserable, at least he got to sit beside a pretty girl, no matter how cold and indifferent she was, Sirius had the eternal misfortune of becoming the desk mate with Sir Snivillus himself.

The slimy git had his nose pointed up and scrunched as if he smelt an incredibly disgusting smell in the air; Sirius guessed it was probably dog. The tiny perfect cursive that covered his parchment was at odds with Sirius’ own clumsy scrawl, littered with smudges and ink spots. It wasn’t that Sirius had bad penmanship, no his pureblood parents had demanded he learn copper plate from only the finest tutors in Europe but instead of lacking he actually skill the boy was simple too lazy to put it to use. The sight of the other boy’s immaculate notes somehow annoyed him. That pretentious prick. 

Sirius heard his name being called, he looked up suddenly into the scowling face of his teacher, her brows so furrowed that her beady eyes almost sunk behind the folds of skin. He looked at all the expectant faces looking at him; even Snivillus had stopped his furious note taking to gawk at him, and back to the front of the room at the table filled with little yellow tubs with multicolored lids the teacher had conjured up. He guessed it was his turn, he scraped back his chair with deliberate slowness, and the sound of the hard wooden legs grating against the stone floor caused everyone to wince. Standing slowly, he swaggered up the aisle with as much confidence as he could put into each step, winking at the fit brunette that sat near the aisle on his way up. By the time he had got to the front, Knarly was practically gnashing her teeth; all she did was point silently to the table laden with little pots of clay. “Just choose one, sit down and do the assignment, Mister Black” he decided he wasn’t going to push his luck, not if he ever wanted to sit anywhere near James again this year. He quickly grabbed the nearest one and walked back down the aisle, quicker but with the same confident swagger he always seemed to possess. 

When he finally sat down the looked at what colour he had chosen and blanched. Fairy Berry Fuchsia. What the fuck? The lid of the container was eye numbing neon pink, which seemed to burn his irises. He could only imaging what it looked like inside the container. It was probably bad enough to cause permanent blinding. By the time Severus had been called and had sat back down Sirius had already popped the lid off this container and dropped the practically glowing pink lump of the table, how the Muggles were able to create such a color without the aid of magic was absolutely beyond him. He had found a little piece of parchment inside the container along with the clay, and scrawled on it with Knarly's pointy spidery script was the word “bird”. Well at least he knew what he was making. After about twenty minutes, Sirius sat back and looked at this creation. It vaguely resembled an avocado with wings on it, and odd, unbalanced lump sat on the top. It would, at even the tiniest provocation, fall off. Clearly the Black heir was not very gifted artistically. Severus didn’t seem to be having much luck either, his powder blue sculpture looked as if an animal had had a tragic and rather painful encounter with a bludger, that plus cat ears.

Deciding that his sculpting abilities were not going to improve much from now to the end of the period, he pulled out his wand a cast a quick spell on the inanimate lump of clay, hurrying so that the head wouldn’t fall off before he was done. The second the last syllable past his lips there was a flurry of fuchsia feathers as a small, bright pink bird jumped up, flew a circle around his hand and landed on his hand. The small creature looked up to the boy; large dark eyes eyed the creature which had created it curiously. Head darting rapidly back and forth, it sat on the hand that had sculpted it out of children’s play dough and given it life. It didn’t look very impressed with Sirius. Sirius’s ears picked up the last words of the transfiguration spell coming from beside him, looking up just in time to see Severus’ clay lump transform into a large, grey blue cat.

The cat had abnormally large ears that were deep midnight blue at the tips that gradually faded to grey where the ear connected to the head of the animal. However there were also dark blue markings around the face of the cat, right beneath the ears and extending downwards, so it almost looked as if it had a pair of exceptionally large, bright blue sideburns. At the chin of the cat and around the muzzle, longer hair and whiskers combined into the effect as if a fine, wispy, baby blue beard covered its face. There were also several other discrepancies with the cat’s appearance, its legs were exceptionally short and its body fat and round like an overfed politician, and it lacked any form of a tail, Severus must have forgotten to add it. 

The two boys silently looked at each other, appraising each other’s creations in their heads and each other as well. Finally Sirius spoke, “Your cat is blue,” Severus stared at him for a moment, as if judging where he was messing with him, mocking him or just plain dumb. He seemed to choose all of the above as his face slid into an unpleasant sneer. He pointedly looked at the small bird not perched on Sirius’ head that seemed to be trying to build a nest in his hair, “well Black, aren’t canaries supposed to be yellow?” Sirius looked back at the little bird, which seemed to be successful in colonizing Sirius shoulder length hair into a comfortable little bachelor pad. How could he tell it was a canary? 

Sirius opened his mouth to ask, or throw an insult back, he didn’t know which. But he would probably go with the latter since whenever he tried to have a conversation with the other boy it somehow always devolved into a shouting match with hexes hurled back and forth between the two. But before he could even utter a word, the cat, which had been nuzzling into the hand Severus had been using to stroke his head with, sudden seemed to realized that here was a tiny, tasty, birdie right inform of his eyes. And that his newly transfigured stomach as in fact, painfully empty. He leaped. What occurred afterwards was like something out of the Looney Toons cartoons. They chased each other over and under the tables, between the legs of the tables, chairs and students, before the bird had the wonderful idea of hiding in Miss Varleys quiet voluminous beehive hairdo. Needless to say both boys got detention.

Sirius had decided to keep the little bride after the fiasco in transfigurations class; he had taken quiet a shine to the curious little animal. He had dubbed it Fairy Berry, after its unfortunate hue of pink. The more he looked at the little animal the more used to the colour he got, he still wasn’t sure it was a good or bad thing yet, but he also begin noticing other strange things about Berry. The bird had longer legs and neck than an average canary, and was, of course, bright pink also, its beak was also larger and longer on a smaller than normal head, and overall it had the effect of what appeared to be like a miniature flamingo. And for some reason the idea of a miniature flamingo nesting in his hair seemed to fill Sirius with an inexplicable joy and giddiness, he wondered if staring at the offensively bright pink had somehow fried his brain.

The other Marauders also had the results of that afternoon’s class with them, James ended up with a mint green rabbit, which oddly enough had a pair of wings on its back, which it used to fly around their dorm room with Berry. Somehow Peter had ended up with an orange. An honest to god orange. Sirius didn’t know what he had been trying to transfigure it into, but he did know the boy was too afraid to throw it out or eat in case it was alive. That was probably the only time that Peter was hesitant to eat anything that vaguely resembled food and was not obviously deadly. Remus predictably was the only one that was successful, with a small white fox on his lap that wasn’t an odd colour, had any extra body parts, or a fruit. 

As Sirius settle into bed with his new pet bird, Remus with his fox, James with his rabbit-bird-thingy and Peter with his orange, he thought about the blue breaded cat that Severus had transfigured. He wondered if the boy had kept it or just transfigured it back into play dough, he like to believe that he had kept it. The thought of Severus having something to snuggle up to at night was strangely comforting. He drifted off to sleep, with a now familiar weight of Berry nesting in his hair, with images of the other boy still in his head, which followed him in this dreams until morning.

The two would exchange nothing but insults for many years.

Date three

Archibald sat on the dark silk sheets that covered Severus’ bed and looked on with disinterest as the man tossed article after article of clothing out of his closet. The cat yawned widely, and looked on with pity as the human still desperately tried to find something to clothe his hairless naked body with. Really, those humans were such an under evolved race, wearing tubes of fabric to keep warm? How positively medieval, Archibald thought, licking a paw and running it over this ombre coloured ears and baby blue side burns. Silly creature should just grow a pelt and stop with all this fussing. He sighed, his owner was just plain obtuse sometimes. Here was Archibald spending his precious time giving valuable consul to the human and he didn’t even listen to a word of it, the nerve. 

As Severus held up another shirt to his front, his hair still damp from his recent shower, and he thought of the owl he had gotten only days before, telling him the was invited to the official reunion of the class of ’65 (btw this is a totally made up number, I actually have no idea when the Marauders were in school, this is just my mom’s birthday). He wasn’t sure why he had spent the last twenty minutes trying on shirts that he had bought nearly two years ago that still had the tags on them, he wasn’t sure why he had gotten an hair cut the day before or used the new herbal shampoo that his mother had sent him. To be honest he wasn’t sure why he was going to the thing in the first place. 

School had been hell for him, with the teasing and the bullying and the pranks and the fact the girl of his dreams had been stolen by of the fore mentioned teasers/bullies. But if he had to be honest with himself it was his pride that kept him from throwing the envelope into his fire the moment he read it. He couldn’t stand to think that his former tormentors getting together over drinks and laughing about how poor little Snivillus was to chicken to come to the reunion. No, that was not something he could stand for. He would go, and show them, what he wanted to show them though Severus wasn’t quite sure about yet, but he knew whatever it was it would shock them.  
Some tiny, very, very tiny part of himself, so small Severus didn’t even know it himself that it existed, knew that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to go to the reunion. Living by himself in an empty flat with only a very sarcastic and fickle cat was not something a person could get used to, even if you were as reclusive as Severus was. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to someone his own age, much less a wizard or witch that had gone to Hogwarts. If Severus was being honest to himself he would admit that he was a tiny, itty-bitty bit, lonely, but he wasn’t, absolutely not. He turned and faced Archibald, who was bristling at being ignored for a whole twenty minutes, never mind that the cat could disappear for days on end leaving Severus to eat breakfast alone in his empty kitchen and held up the shirt in a silent question. 

The look on Archibald’s face could only be described as utter contempt and thinly veiled disgust as he looked at the pale lavender dress shirt adorned with dozens of tiny pineapples. It had been a gift. Archibald looked at the shirt, then at Severus and finally to the clock, before staring at Severus, as if asking, after twenty minutes of searching that was the best you could do? Letting out a soft sound that almost sounded like a sigh, the cat leaped off the bed, landing gracefully despite his lack of tail and, ahem, robust physique. The cat strolled carelessly past the piles of cloths almost has high as he was before stepping into the walk in closet and picking something out of the bottom rack and carried it to Severus. 

Severus picked up the hanger from between Archibald’s jaws and studied it carefully. It was a dark, almost black shirt made of rough, raw silk; it had abalone buttons and was casual enough for a gathering of this nature but didn’t seem sloppy at all. Not to mention it accentuated Severus’ pale skin and dark hair and eyes. He looked up at awe at Archibald, who merely raised a single blue, bushy eyebrow. Really, what would he do without me? Archibald thought before strolling away. Severus with similar thoughts quickly put on the shirt, and standing in front of the mirror, squared his shoulders and said with confidence, “I’m not who I used to be, I’m no longer the fool I was made out to be in school.” Before apparating to the pub that was the designated meeting place.

It was only eleven thirty; four and a half hours after the official start of the reunion and more than half of the people present were utterly, and completely, smashed.

The pub now sustained damages that added to a total of three broken chairs, four overturned tables, and a broken store front window, smashed by a flying oxford, and countless numbers of smashed glasses, pitchers and mugs, their contents soaking the dark wooden floors. James had left early at the behest, or should I say threats, of his wife, and Peter had had half a pint and before he passed out and had to be dragged back to his flat by team of four half-drunk Auours who had work the next day. Remus was conspicuously absent, and Sirius was unsurprisingly shirtless and dancing on a table, with drunken former classmates wolf whistling and tossing sickles at the man, aiming for his vital regions. But what was shocking about the scene was the fact that standing there on the table, right next to the Black heir was a similarly shirtless Snape. 

Severus’ memory started to get fuzzy after the seventh shot of fire whisky, he vaguely remembered some short of drinking contest with Black, but afterwards things just kind of went inside out. With one bare arm wrapped around his former enemy’s bare shoulders and having a similar weight, heavy and warm, around his own waist, he couldn’t really remember why he was supposed to hate the fellow. He was funny, witty, and a helluva looker. What wasn’t there to like? With the Weather Girls playing out of the old school Jukebox and his carefully chosen shirt lost somewhere amongst the chaos, Severus had never felt so alive. He tossed back his head and yelled into the tin covered ceiling at the top of his lungs, “I’m so fucking drunk!” and accompanied by hoots and cheers promptly feel off the table, taking Sirius with him.

Sirius lay on the floor, the spilt butter beer soaking his hair and pants; he knew he should have been in pain, but he only felt the electric buzz of alcohol in his veins. He felt an irrepressible and utterly irrational laughter bubble out of his throat. Beside him Severus started laughing as well, their maniacal cackles drowning out the last lines of Its Raining Men, which they had been dancing to only moments earlier. After they finished, they just lay there for a moment, limbs entangled, bare-chested on a filthy floor, when Sirius suddenly realized something. In a moment of rare enlightenment, he turned to the man lying beside him; face still flushed with laughter and drink, dark eyes glowing with a light he had never seen once before this night, despite seeing him nearly every day for more than seven years. For a moment Sirius understood why Lilly had rejected James the first hundred times he had asked her out. He for the first time, years after they’ve left school, finally realized how attractive Severus looked when he smiled, Severus, not Snape or Sinvillus, just Severus. 

The name rolled off his tongue like a drop of honeyed wine, and only when Severus looked over did Sirius realized he had said it out loud. Only when the other man had turned at the sound of his name, eyes wide and curious, and hazy from drink, did Sirius realize how close they were. It was his second revelation in as many minutes and by far the less monumental one, but this feel more present, more urgent, like an itch that hasn’t been scratched for years, seven years to be exact. The warmth of the breath that spread over his face, the tang of alcohol and something that was purely Severus seemed to intoxicate him, muddling his brain and heating him like a shot of warmed scotch in the winter. In an act that he would later dismiss as a drunken act of foolishness, the ultimate beer goggles, he decided to scratch that itch that had been bothering his for so long.

Severus’ eyes only had the time to widen fractionally, before Sirius leaned in and pressed their lips together into a sloppy, drunken kiss that tasted like salted peanuts and stale beer. They moved together awkwardly, after Severus got over his state of frozen shock and responded. It felt odd, warm and soft, yet not quite the same as with girls. Too many hard angles and flat planes against their roaming hands, but the instant they parted their lips and their tongues tentatively touch the world seemed to unravel. A hot, heavy fog settled over them, as their kiss grew heated, passing drunken curiosity and into a place far beyond either’s comprehension, and so foreign that they both felt a heavy apprehension and a carnal thrill in their very bones. After an eternal moment they pulled apart, a thin string of saliva still connecting their mouths, which were swollen and tender like bruised fruit, and stared at each other. 

Fear and amazement filled their expressions. They knew that they could let it drop, pretend it was just the booze talking, brush it off and go on with their own lives. Go back to their empty flats and sleep in their cold beds; they could go back to hating each other. They were standing on the edge, something that was so infinitely terrifying and wonderful, it took their breath away, but were they ready to jump? To let go of everything they thought they knew about each other, about themselves. But what was waiting for them if they turned away from this? If they just pushed it down and locked it away, a life of good friends and empty rooms that greeted them each night. What were they leaving behind if there was no one waiting for them at home, the answer was simple, nothing. 

So Sirius didn’t stop Severus when he pulled out his wand, which was miraculously still in his back pocket despite the craziness that had happen in the last few hours, and cast a quick apparition spell. As they tumbled into the unknown they pressed their lips together into another searing kiss that would have scorched the floor they lay on if they were still there. But they were already gone, all that was left was a small puddle of spilled larger, and a party that was still going on; no one noticing what the two men had been doing after they had fallen off the table, or where they had gone. And in a flat, miles away, two men appeared out of thin air, tripping over the piles of clothes that had been left out in front of the closet only hours earlier, collapsing on the silken sheets and in the dark a pair of glowing blue eyes watched them for only a moment, before turning away and disappearing back into the night.

Sirius woke with the afternoon sun on his back, he turned over and groaned, throwing an arm over his face, trying to block out the ray of light that pierced his skull like arrows. The Morning After Syndrome, as Sirius has since dubbed it, the act of waking up mind shatteringly hangover, in an unfamiliar bed, devoid of any vestiges of clothing, body aching with the familiar pleasant soreness of a night of acrobatic sex and with absolutely no idea how he got there. Needless to say this was not the first time this has happened in his twenty three years; after all he was Sirius Black. He was undeniably fabulous, even if he didn’t feel so hot now.

Groaning again as he sat up slowly, trying to stop the room from swaying, he got his first good look at the place, it was obviously a bed room, open and airy, with large windows, which were causing his current feeling of having someone putting a bit drill through his skull. The stranger thing was that the floor was littered with clothes, which wasn’t so odd in itself, as Sirius was obviously missing the clothes he came in. But the floor was covered in dozens and dozens of shirts and pants, so that the pale wood floor was almost completely covered by a carpeting of cotton, wool and silk. The clothes looked out of place either the otherwise exceptional clean room; it was almost the exact opposite of his own bedroom at his flat in a Wizarding area of London. Where the floors were dark and worn and every inch of wall was plastered with posters of bands, bikes and bikini clad bodies. The cream walls here were bare and lacked any booties, shame really since they would bring so much more personality to the place. 

Sliding out from between the silky sheets, Sirius padded to the bathroom he could see through an open door, there was another open door that lead to the closet and one that was closed at the other end of the room from the other two. It must have led to the other part of the flat. Whose flat he still wasn’t sure, another symptom of the Moring After Syndrome was temporary amnesia, and Sirius preferred he maintained his blissful ignorance for a few more moments before he was inevitably kicked out or escaped himself. The bathroom was done in a similar light color palate and exceptionally clean as well, whoever lived here wasn’t a slob at least, which made the clothes scattered floor in the bedroom an even bigger mystery. But one that Sirius was sure he would have time to ponder later, after a warm shower and cup of coffee.

Stepping into the scented steam he let the hot water dissolve the knots in his back and wash away the soreness from his body. He must have really gone at it last night if he was feeling this refreshed and tired now, and he felt momentarily guilty about whoever was on the receiving end. After about fifteen minutes he knew he couldn’t put off the awkward conversation that was waiting for him on the other side of that closed door any longer. He decided to get out before they came and to check up on him. They must have thought he had managed to drown himself and he would prefer to have that conversation dressed. Stepping out of the shower he was about to reach for a towel but froze. 

There, sitting on the closed lid of the toilette, looking as regal and refined as king would on his throne, was an enormous blue grey cat. Baby blue side burns and wispy beard the same as it was nearly a decade ago. It had not aged at all. It had stayed the same like Fairy Berry, and James’s Mint Bunny, Remus’ silver fox and Peter’s orange, which he still obsessively took care of every day since that class in transfigurations in third year. Oh my god. This was Severus’ cat, this was Severus’ house, this was his bedroom, and he was now completely and utterly screwed; pardon the pun. 

Archibald studied the creature that stood in the middle of his bathroom; it was taller than his owner and broader too. The shaggy fur that covered its head was also quite a bit longer, but it was also standing on two legs, relatively hairless, and possessing small, meaty ears, so Archibald guesses it was human, same species as his master. Though the human smelled disgustingly like wet dog, it seemed to be a fine specimen, with no obvious birth defects and seemed to be built well enough. Archibald then shifted his gaze downwards, yes, that would be fine for siring heirs. Not that he would ever put that to good use Archibald thought, leaping off the seat. Silly humans couldn't even tell males from females. 

They could try as hard as they could but not matter how many times they mated there would be no tiny humans born from his master’s belly. Archibald had tried to tell them that last night, but as usual he was ignored, and they continue to try and try until morning. God, humans were utterly useless. With a huff Archibald turned from the naked human, who had used that infernal water box to clean himself. Again another useless human contraption, why use that terrible liquid sprayer when god gave you a perfectly useful tongue? But then again this human seemed to be a little slow, the way he was staring at Archibald. Stick to your own species brat, thought Archibald before stepping out of the bathroom, and making his way to the kitchen where he knew that his owner was preparing his afternoon tea. If there was one thing humans were useful for was the fact they could make tea, it was so much easier with their opposable thumbs and such.

Sirius didn’t know how long he just stood there, staring after the bulbous cat after it had long since left. He felt his hung-over brain try and muddle through what had just transpired and failing. He had just been checked out by a cat, Severus’ cat. Oh god, he felt slightly nauseous as he walked out of the bathroom, no longer needing a towel, since his body had dried whilst he was still frozen in shock. It was just one of those moments, that seem to last forever, yet pass in an instant, Sirius thought as he numbly walked back into the bedroom, refusing to look at the bed, with its rumpled sheets that smelt of sex. Sheets that had been wrapped around his and Severus’s body while they… Sirius stopped that thought before he could go insane at the mental images that assaulted him; he guessed his precious moments of blissful ignorance were over. Sirius stood, naked and alone, in a room scattered with clothes, men’s clothes. How could he have been so blind as to ignore the signs? 

Maybe the was just choosing not to see them, and without any other choice, he bent down and picked up a loose white button up shirt and a pair of linen pants, that looked like they would fit him. They were still a little tight around the chest and shoulders, and the pants ended mid-calf but they fit well enough anyways; they were probably big on Severus’ thinner frame. Sirius walked with a dull sense of finality out the now open door into the main part of the flat, and turning he was meet with a sight so surreal he was wondering if he had fell into an alternated universe where Severus was a sexy little minx and cats were pompous pricks that spoke with English accents.

The main part of the flat seemed to consist of a kitchen and dining area along with a living space and den. French doors leading to the balcony and large windows flooded the space with ample light, the floors paneled with the same pale wood as the bedroom. It looked nothing like what Sirius imagined where Severus would live at; he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, dungeons and cauldrons in downtown London? But it certainly wasn’t anything this light, airy, and normal, and it only made this all the more surreal to Sirius. And there sitting at the dinner table, a teacup and saucer in front of him and a plate of buttered scones at his elbow was the fat cat himself, looking all smug and self-important. Looking up as if to say, aren’t you late, to Sirius. Arsehole. 

Sirius glared at the cat, and it glared right back. Sirius was just starting to get crossed eyed when he heard someone clear their throat to his right, turning he stared, still slightly crossed eyed at Severus who stood awkwardly at the counter. Here was a moment that Sirius seriously considered that he had somehow lost his mind after an overconsumption of fire whisky had burned away his brain cells. That he was in fact sitting in a padded room somewhere in St. Mugo’s and all that had happened so far were just hallucinations caused by his shattered mind. Yes, because the thought that Severus could look adorable with ruffled bedhead so preposterous that Sirius concluded he must be insane. Severus shrank under Sirius’ intense stare, turning his head to the side slightly he said in his most steady voice, “I made brunch. Eat.” Not very eloquent but it got the message across without betraying his internal turmoil.

When Severus had woken that morning with a mind shattering hangover, a foreign ache in his hips, and Sirius Black in his bed, he had nearly laid back down and gone back to sleep. But every time he opened his eyes the scene was still the same. He did this about seven times before Archibald’s complaints about his late breakfast spurred him into action. But before leaving his bedroom, he had firmly shut the door, hoping that when he returned it would be empty, and he could just pretend this was all a dream. Clearly someone had it out for him up there because Sirius Black was now sitting at his small kitchen table, which he had found at a Muggle yard sale and instantly loved, and having brunch with him and his cat.

Sirius sat down at the small, but comfortably worn table, and looked at the breakfast that was set before him, eggs benedict with fried sausage, bread toasted to a perfect golden brown with jars of jam and pats of butter melting into the toast. There was a pitcher of juice and one of milk along with a teapot with the lid off. The bergamot scented steam tickling Sirius’ sensitive nose, and to the side a plate of sliced, iced fruit. There were even fresh baked scones, not that he could eat them with the cat glaring at him every time he spared a look at the mouth-watering pastries. It was the perfect English breakfast, or lunch. Judging from the slant of the light outside the window it was probably already early afternoon. The fact that Severus could cook was probably the least shocking thing that had happened to him so far, he was a potions pro in school after all, but as he took a bite of the perfectly done eggs, seasoned with just the right amount of sea salt and freshly ground peeper, he couldn’t stop a sound of pleasure escape his well stuffed mouth. He looked up, to see a slight smile on the other man’s face, nothing like the wide grin and light heart laughter of last night, but it still took his breath away.

Swallowing he knew that he had to say something, but what? Should he apologize for the rough treatment last night, for he had not missed the way the other man had leant on the counter and the way he gingerly sat down, wincing at the movement. He felt a momentary pang at this thought, guilt he was sure, but there was also something rawer and more primal, that seemed to steam out straight from Padfoot, a sort of deep satisfaction or pride. He knew he had been staring to long, when Severus’ smile started to slip, brows starting to draw down as if wondering if he was mentally able. Sirius knew he had to at least tell him thanks about making him breakfast, but when he opened his mouth what came out was, “Your cat is drinking out of a teacup.” Sirius suddenly wanted to stab himself in the head with the silverware. Severus looked at him curiously, wondering if he should answer seriously or make some sort of sarcastic comment. But very slowly, as if explaining this to a child he said, “Yes, Archibald refuses to take his drink from anything else.” 

Sirius felt his eyebrow brush his fringe. He seemed to have discovered that he had no filter between his mind and mouth, at least not where Severus was considered, said “Your cat, you named it Archibald?” at this Severus looked indignant, “Archibald is a very noble name!” but at this point Sirius seemed to have stopped listening and was shaking with silent laughter, his long legs jostling he table as he tried to contain his chuckles that seemed to bubble out of him like spring water. Wiping a tear from his eye, he looked up at the put off expression on both cat and owner’s face; they were so similar that he had to repress another round of laughter. Finally he managed to choke out between gasps, “Archibald, seriously. You gave that Blue Beard, such a ridiculous name?” by this time Archibald had heard enough, leaping off the chair which he had formally inhabited he stalked out of the room. He would leave it to his owner to defend his honor, meanwhile he had a lovely little Scottish fold to meet and he had to spend time to groom himself sufficiently. 

Meanwhile back at the table, Severus was fighting the flush that was threatening to crawl up his face, and said with as much grace as he could muster, which was quiet a lot considering the circumstance, and said, “Well, what you named that obscenely bright pink bird of yours anyways?” Sirius’ laughter seemed to have died down a bit and he answered, absolutely serious, “Fairy Berry,” and it was time for Severus to laugh, and he let out a sarcastic snort. “Are you serious, your bird is called Fairy Berry? Fairy Berry the Fuchsia Canary?” Sirius put down his fork; nobody insulted the fabulous miniature flamingo that lived in his hair for half the week. “Well,” he said rising to defend the honour of his loyal pet said “Peter named his orange Thomas!” There was a moment of silence at the table, where both men were trying desperately to contain themselves, but all at once, at the same time both burst to loud chuckles, their laughter bouncing off the walls and ringing in their ears. “Oh my god, Peter transfigured an orange?” Severus gasped between laughs, Sirius with tears running down his face could only nod before answering, voiced strained he said “Yes, and he kept it all these years! He still washes it every day and tells it good night” Sirius pushed to steady his voice before doing a plausible imitation of Peter, “good night dear Thomas, don’t let the fruit flies bite,” before miming little kisses, and across the table Severus broke out into fresh laughter, and Sirius wasn’t far behind him. 

After the tea had long since gone cold, and the ice in the fruit bowl melted, both men still occasionally broke out into quiet chuckles, laughing silently at just how ridiculous this was. They were both worn out by so much laughing, and were just content with sitting in an comfortable silence, but eventually Sirius felt compelled to break it, “You’ve kept Blue Beard all these years.” It wasn’t a question as a statement, and Severus answered with his own statement, “Yes, yes I have; and his name isn’t Blue Beard, its Archibald. You’ve kept Fairy Berry the Fuchsia Canary as well.” Sirius only nodded, slowly, his mind years away, before looking up, his face a mix of calm uncertainty, delicate joy and tentative hope. It was such a raw expression Severus could feel all his walls melt away at such an exposed expression. He didn't dare laugh because he knew he wore the same expression. Before Sirius could speak, Severus spoke in with an unsteady voice, not even ashamed when it shook and broke, “Would, would you like to stay for dinner?” It was so uncertain, hopeful yet seemed to be resigned to rejection, it broke Sirius’ heart, and he felt no hesitation when he answered. “Yes, I would love to,” and the smile that Severus gave him was enough to blow him away, twice in twenty-four hours, it must be a record. Let’s see if we can try and break it, even if we have to try everyday into forever.

Epilogue

The two toddlers glared at each other across the room, each sitting in their respective godfathers’ lap. The two adults shared a look over their heads; the dark eyed man looked over a fair, silvery head over to his companion, who gazed right back over his own, dark, messy haired toddler, his pale grey gaze holding a question. Severus sighed slightly, tiny Draco squirmed in his lap and giggled at the breath that tickled the top of his head and blew astray his fine hair. He was really starting to wonder if it had really been a good idea or not to arrange this playdate between their godsons, the Potter heir and the heir of the Malfoy family. 

It had taken no small amount of wheedling and pleading on both their parts to convince their best friends to allow them to take their precious children out to the day to the Black summer home for a playdate. But so far all that had happened was a mutual glaring contest from either end of the sunny drawing room. Neither child seemed to be willing to leave their adult. How two children could instantly dislike each other so completely was beyond Severus. He silently sent his answer back to Sirius, before gently moving baby Draco off his lap and onto the floor. Draco turned with a whine and stared at his godfather questioningly, “Don’t worry, we’ll only be gone for a moment. We will just go to the room over and let you get to know Harry a bit better on your own.” Standing he brushed off his immaculate slacks before turning to Sirius who was doing the same, a distraught little Harry at his feet. 

Severus let out a sigh as he stood in the elegantly decorated hall, right outside the drawing room. He turned when he heard the door open again, this time with Sirius standing there, slowly and quietly closing the door behind them. The moment the door settled in its jam with a satisfied click they were upon each other. Lips crashed feverishly as roaming hands tied to undo each other, Severus’ back collided with the mahogany paneled wall with a dull thud as Sirius pushed his knee between his legs. Their laboured breathing filled the otherwise silent hall as they feasted on each other like starving men. These last weeks had been busy and they had not slept in the same bed for ages, and even at twenty eight neither seemed to slow down. 

But eventually they had to pull apart. Severus’ buttons were already gone, scattered on the plush carpeted that covered the floors, and Sirius’ hair was in total disarray, both their lips swollen and bruised with their frenzied kisses. They could not go back in there looking like this. Wordlessly Sirius swept up Severus in his arms, and carried him, bridal style towards the master bedroom. Severus weakly pounded the arms that surrounded him, his fogged brain trying to think logically before he lost all sense and started shagging the git right there in the hall. “No, wait, we can’t just leave them in there alone. We’re adults now, we have responsibilities, duties!” Sirius didn’t even slow down as he kicked open the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall open. Walking in briskly he tossed the protesting Severus upon the immaculate silk sheets, before kneeling down between the other man’s knees. Pulling his tie lose he stared at Severus with unrestrained lust and want. “They can handle themselves for twenty minutes” before leaning down and smashing their lips together in a soul searing kiss, and Severus’s protests died on his lips.

Elsewhere in the manor, two boys sat alone in a sun dappled drawing room, both staring at the door that had just closed. From which their godfathers had just disappeared through only moments before. After a moment of waiting, and seeing that no one was coming for them, turned back to each other and continued their glaring contest. Narrowed green eyes stared into pale, silvery grey ones, nearly hidden beneath furrowed pale brows, as both boys silently vowed to never get along with each other. A small hand slowly crept towards an overturned yellow container with a highlighter orange lid, and an evil smirk spread over the face of the dark hair boy. And in the portrait above the mantle place, the Black ancestor sank down in her frame, eyes wide and glistening with fear, not again, she thought desperately.

And then all hell broke loose. 

Again.


End file.
